


Innocence Found

by winter_angst



Series: Innocence [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Daddy Issues, Horses, M/M, Wealth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:42:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26534551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Birthday parties are stressful. Especially when it’s Brock’s nonna planning it and his father is on the guest list. Thank god Jack is there.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Series: Innocence [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1929472
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	Innocence Found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalika999 (kalika_999)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts).



> An epilogue to Innocence Lost for Kali. I hope you like it!

The Rollins Stables situated on a vast hundred acres with a stable that fully boarded sixty horses. A fringe of black walnuts and blue oaks gave the property much needed privacy. The craftsman farmhouse situated above the stables was surprisingly quaint in Brock’s opinion. White washed with shake siding. a long covered porch with stone pillars. The roof had dormers and gable pediments shaped like horse heads. Stone wainscotting ran along the bottom of the house adding a bit of the rustic charm that Jack was so fond of. Brock remembered his shock the first time he saw it. A man as wealthy as Jack should have been housed in a mansion twice the size of Rumlow Manor but Jack preferred to live a simple life. Brock grew to respect that as he got older. But even today he couldn’t help but marvel at the simplicity of it. Jack had built him a library though which made the place feel a bit more like home when he first arrived. He still thought it was small but there was only so much space you needed for two people. 

Jack carried on his rustic preference with his barn style stables, three massive buildings connected by archways. Each had a door opening to the pastures outside for turns outs. The barns were luxurious, with intricate woodwork and cathedral ceilings. Central air conditioning and heat ran through the barn and each stall, which were large enough to house two horses. Jack spared no expense when it came to horses that were boarded in his stables, each horse had its own attendant who would exercise, clean and muck the stalls every day. Jack didn’t hire anyone for Mister or for Chopin which Brock didn’t mind, he could happily spend hours with him. He didn’t tolerate any other riders, true to being a one-man horse much to Jack’s disappointment. 

“You’re quiet this morning,” Jack commented, setting his cellphone aside. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just thinking.” Brock stared up the moulding. It, like most things in Jack’s life, was horse themed. Brock didn’t doubt it was done by hand. 

“You’ll be fine,” Jack shifted closer, putting his arm behind Brock’s head to fold him against his chest. 

Brock appreciated the embrace. Regardless of how many shows he participated in, his stomach still knotted in fear. It wasn’t that he doubted his horse, Chopin would succeed but only if Brock had prepared him properly. If they didn’t win he would have let Chopin, Jack and himself down. And that was a hefty weight. Everyone knew who his husband was. What would it say if his horse was deemed undesirable. That could easily overshadow Jack’s past achievements. It could seriously hurt their business, could destroy both their reputations. Plus, his nonna had come to visit for his birthday celebration and was going to be attending. She was staying at the local Hilton and complained liberally about how horrible it was during her daily phone call. She had come over for dinner and fussed for two hours about how unfitting the home was for his darling grandson. Brock had done his best to console her and Jack was a good sport, lying about the house being a work in progress.

“What if I fuck it all up?”

“You won’t. You two are a match made in heaven. Besides, it’s hard to see an Akhal-Teke as anything but incredible.” 

“His breed won’t matter if he’s not up to par.” 

“Brock I’ve been in this business for twenty years,” Jack said sternly. “I know what a proper show horse should look like.” 

Brock took a deep breath trying to accept the reassurance. He knew Chopin was a beautiful horse but it wasn’t just looks. They had trained for this tirelessly for the past three weeks but what if Chopin forgot the cues? What if he forgot the way he had been taught to square his legs? What if he was in a bad mood? 

“Get out of your head,” Jack kissed the top of his head. “You’re going to drive yourself crazy.” 

Jack’s hand snaked beneath the duvet but Brock shifted out of reach. “Not really in the mood,” he said apologetically. “I should go out and groom him again.” 

Jack nodded his head looking a bit more sympathetic. “I need to check that the grain delivery was stored properly then I’ll come and see if you need any pointers.” 

Brock smiled and gave him a parting kiss before he rolled out of bed. His twentieth birthday sat like a glimmering gem in the distance but any joy in that was shadowed by his anxiety. It was the reason his nonna was visiting; when he said he wasn’t able to fly to New York due to the show she made a point to set up her usual extravagance at the Kentucky Castle, booking all the venues within it for an expensive, elegant celebration. The guest list was disgustingly long but Brock made sure Jack added some of their friends as well to make it more tolerable. It wasn’t that he disliked the way he was raised, he loved it deep down, but his nonna went overboard and made sure to invite those she wanted to best. And their polite smiles and gifts far out of their financial means always made him feel a bit guilty. 

He pulled on his jodhpurs and a polo. Jack laid in bed watching him. 

“If you’re looking for a strip show you’re going to be sorely disappointed,” Brock said dryly. 

“That is the opposite of you’re doing but after you win, I expect one.” 

“Fuck, if I will I’ll even suck you off after,” Brock laughed. 

Jack hummed. “I look forward to it.” 

“If I win,” Brock reminded him, stone settling his gut once again. 

“You’re definitely going to and I’m definitely getting a blow job.” Jack got out of bed with a stretch. “I’m looking forward to it.” 

Brock couldn’t help but sneak a look at him. He was all hard lines, lean and toned from years of riding horses. It was hard to imagine that this man was his senior by nearly thirty years. It didn’t show on his body and besides laugh lines his face didn’t either. Had the show not lurked in his furtute Brock would have dragged him back to bed and demanded to be fucked.

He left their bedroom and took the steps three at a time. He paused in the one wall kitchen, taking an apple from the island before he headed to the barn. Barn attendants waved at him and he returned the gesture. If there was anything he learned from his nonna it was to keep face even when panicking or upset. Chopin was waiting patiently, already done with his grain. 

“Hey there boy,” Brock rested his palm against his muzzle and Chopin leaned into it with a nicker. 

Brock pulled back and offered the apple which was hastily consumed. “It’s our big day,” Brock said because he knew his horse understood him. 

Chopin tossed his head in confirmation. Brock traded the leather halter for a grooming one and led him out to the grooming area. There were fifteen of them, fully stocked with all the needed supplies. Brock knotted the rope lead to the post and to his delight Chopin was standing square already, as if to assure Brock that he was going to give the show his all. 

“Good job,” Brock murmured, running his hand along his neck. 

Even though his fur was already shining and clean, Brock picked up the curry brush, a small rubber bush, and rubbed it circles over him, from neck to the flank. The brush wasn’t to be used on the legs or face, they were too sensitive. It wasn’t necessary but Brock was checking all of his bases. After he was done with the curry brush he picked up the stiff bristled one to brush out any dirt that may have been loosened by the curry brush. Copin stood steady and calm. He followed up with the soft bristled brush and used it on Chopin’s legs, face and ears. The other brushes were too rough for such sensitive areas. He washed around Chopin’s eyes and mouth with a sponge and then grabbed the dock area sponge before tossing it into the toss away pail. Brock’s fingers and the mane and tail brush passed easily through Chopin’s shiny black mane and tail. Brock had been obsessively grooming all week and it didn’t seem to bother Chopin in the slightest. In a way he was like Brock, a bit high maintenance who thrived under attention. Brock checked his hooves and saw no need to clean them. He sprayed Chopin with ShowSheen and knelt down to apply moisturizer and oil for the shine he was looking for and then stepped back, content with what he was looking at. 

“I think we’ve got it.” 

Brock unknotted him and brought him to the grassy pen usually reserved for fillies and colts to practice cues. Somewhere between the single hoof ups Jack appeared, leaning over the fence to watch. Jack watched him run through their routine once, then twice. “Watch where you're standing,” Jack commented. “Don’t block the judge.” 

Brock nodded his head. He was so distracted by what Chopin was doing that he had forgotten what he was supposed to do. Thank god he had Jack there. He would never lie to Brock and he didn’t cushion the truth because he was worried about Brock’s feelings. He put Chopin back into his stall at eleven so he could have a break from the run throughs. Jack had left halfway through to attend to his own duties. Brock heaved a deep breath and told himself that yes, he could do this. 

The trailer came and Brock followed it in his X7, jittering with nerves. Jack would be there as well, watching. 

Behind the scenes his competitors stood beside their horses, fur glossy with their heads up proudly. Brock was fitting his Billy Royal halter onto Chopin, rubbing his neck nervously. Chopin’s warm brown eyes didn’t seem even slightly worried even when surrounded by strangers, both people and horses. Speaking of the strangers he could feel their eyes on him and Chopin, more so on Chopin and he was a second thought. 

“Nice horse,” one guy said with a nod. “Is he a purebred?” 

“Yes.” 

“Damn.” He looked at his own horse, a gorgeous white Arabian. 

It wasn’t just the breed that won a halter show, it was the horse being top notch in the breed’s standards. For Chopin it would be his long back and the line that ran along it, prominent withers and nice set-in shoulders. The shoulders were meant to be nicely sloped and free moving. Brock thought he fit that criteria to a T but every horse owner thought that. Names began to get called and when theirs was called he sucked in a deep breath and went into show mode. 

They walked out into the arena, following the judge’s instructions on movements: a walk and then a jog to show off balance before they came to a stop in front of her, Chopin squaring up immediately with no cue needed. Chopin followed the lead shanks perfectly, ears pointed, stretching his neck to make it appear long and show off his throat latch. Brock held his posture well, a side effect from his childhood. Toes opposite Chopin’s hooves with a ninety degree angle with his arm when giving cues. Chopin stood there like a statue, a magnificent picture perfect shot of an Ahkal-Teke. His shoulders lined up with the slope of his hoof perfectly, shoulders sloping down into the toned lines. Brock was allowed to touch his horse to ensure his stance was proper but Brock didn’t need to. Chopin was doing it all on his own. The judge got up, looking over Chopin, checking to see how he lined up, examining his lines. She circled him, scrutinizing from every angle, sex organs included because he was a stallion.

Brock showed the judge Chopin’s teeth, proving there was no over or underbite. 

He exited the area and uttered a nervous, almost hysterical laugh, and threw his arms around Chopin. “You did good boy,” he said, stroking his side. “I think we might've pulled that off.”

Next thing he knew he was accepting the check, a meager five thousand, and horse show publication photographers were taking photographs of Brock, Chopin and the judge. He got polite congratulations for the people who had scored second and third. Brock didn’t blame them for being bitter. It wasn’t really fair for him to participate in these local competitions with a horse like Chopin but Chopin deserved to be admired and Brock enjoyed competing. He wasn’t going to apologize for that. But he could feel a little bad. 

His nonna hastened over and demanded to be included in the photograph and the photographer, a bit confused, agreed. When he’d moved on she took Brock’s face between her hands and placed a kiss on his forehead. 

“Nipote, you did so well. You looked so lovely out there, my talented grandson. And Chopin, such a magnificent beast, isn’t he? You two go together so well.” 

“Thank you nonna,” Brock said and looked over her shoulder where Jack sat looking awfully smug. 

His promise came back and he nearly blushed before focusing his eyes on nonna instead as a distraction. 

“Five thousand dollars,” she said in disgust. “That’s all they give you? You cannot even buy a watch with that.” 

“I know nonna,” Brock said, if only to stop her from making a scene. “This isn’t New York.” 

She sniffled a bit. “If only you would come back. There’s a beautiful property with plenty of space for horses, Jack. You promised to take care of my Brock.” 

Jack was, thankfully, well used to the accusations that he wasn’t properly providing for Brock. “We’re renovating the house, remember. I have to be in this state for work.” 

“Sure you could hire someone to run things so you might spend more time with Brock -- and his family.” 

“I’m a hands on person.” 

“Hm.” His nonna wrapped her white mink shawl around her shoulders as if to shield herself from the idea of anyone with money working with their hands. “Your father is attending the party. I told him that since he missed your wedding it is the least he can do.” 

That startled Brock. “Oh.” 

“Don’t look so worried, darling. He is eager to meet your husband properly.” She glanced at Jack. “Perhaps try to act like you belong in our social class, yes?”

“I will be sure to put on my Rolex and get a town car.” Jack replied sarcastically. Brock directed a glare at him and he quickly corrected himself. “I will be on my best behavior, nonna. I promise.” 

Nonna looked pleased. “Good. Well, I must run. We’re having dinner tonight at AZUR.” 

Jack widened his eyes a bit and Brock knew it was because of the venison defrosting in their fridge that Jack had been looking forward to. “We had dinner plans, nonna.” he tried to sound apologetic. 

“Break them. I'm sure whatever…people…you were going to eat with will understand that your nonna is in town and you certainly would not leave her to dine out alone.” 

Brock knew it was her trying to guilt him but he still cast a pleading look to Jack who returned the look with a firm no. So Brock had to step up his pleading with the best puppy dog eyes, the ones that got Jack to replace his french door fridge with a smart one, and Jack sighed heavily. 

“We’ll reschedule our previous arrangement but only if you allow me to collect the tab.” 

Nonna sniffed as if the sheer idea offended her because, well, it probably did. “Nonsense. You’re sitting here wearing some plaid shirt taken off one of those horrible box store hangers. I cannot in good conscience allow you to do that when you don’t even have the money to afford proper clothing.” 

Brock looked pleadingly at Jack. 

“It’s made by Proper Cloth,” Jack replied, a bit heatedly. 

Nonna just turned her attention to Brock. “I will see you this evening.” 

He leaned forward to ghost a kiss to her cheeks. She didn’t like her make up to be messed up. It was hard to think she was in her late fifties. Thanks to Botox she probably would never look her age and in her social circle it was important. She kissed him on both cheeks and looked disapprovingly at Jack. 

“Please dress appropriately.” 

“And here I was planning to wear a stained tee and sweatpants.” 

“Jack,” Brock cut in. “He’s just joking nonna, I’ll make sure he’s dressed properly.” 

“What you would do without my grandson is beyond me.” Nonna sighed. Her phone chimed and she looked down. “Ah, my car is here. I will see you at seven sharp.” 

“We’ll be there.” Brock promised. 

She looked a bit ridiculous with her red bottoms, Saks skirt, Misha Nonoo blouse and shawl in such a location. But his nonna was never one to compromise her class for her surroundings. “I swear that woman — ”

“We wouldn’t have met if it wasn’t for that woman,” Brock cut in. 

He understood that they didn’t always agree, especially on how they lived. Nonna seemed to doubt Jack’s wealth as of late and Brock almost found it funny. Almost. He wanted them to get along and he was giving it his all to help make it happen. But their lifestyles clashed and there was only so much he could do to urge Jack to adjust his lifestyle to console his nonna. She was unchanging and at her age, there was no way to convince her otherwise. 

“Would it kill you to play along?” 

“I’m doing my best. I swear that woman isn’t going to be happy until I show her my bank statement.” 

It didn’t sound like a bad idea but he had a feeling that Jack wouldn’t honestly agree to it. So he tried to turn the conversation to something positive. “I really thought that Paint was going to edge me out. I wasn’t sure about the gait change for Chopin, it felt a little awkward.” 

“It looked, and clearly was, flawless. You need to get out of your head.”

Brock hugged him. “Please be nice to my nonna.” 

Jack heaved a breath. “I suppose I should act my age.” 

“It would be helpful.” 

He hummed and then said, “You promised me a blowjob.” 

“I guess I did.” Brock slipped the check into his pocket. “I’ll go and turn out Chopin and shower. I’ll meet you in say, two hours?” 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

** ** ** **

Two hours later Brock was scrolling through his Instagram checking the likes Chopin and him had gained. There was something satisfying about seeing his school friends liking and commenting like they were genuinely happy for him. But if there was something Brock had learned from Jack is how fake the culture of the wealthy was. It was relieving to step away from it. In small doses it was pleasant and relaxing, never being expected to lift a finger and entitled to respect for nothing more than how much money he had. But it grew stale and he sought this life, the one he had with Jack where things were simple and extravagance was saved for special occasions. 

Jack had been his very first love and would be his last as well. 

The bedroom door opened and Jack grinned at him. “I’ve never been happier you won a show,” Jack said, taking off his shirt. 

Brock licked his bottom lip, setting the phone on the nightstand. “Me either.” 

He got up from the bed and pushed Jack’s hands away and popped the button. The growl of the zipper teeth separating sent shivers down his spine. Jack was half hard already and Brock’s mouth watered. His boxer briefs were dark blue, nearly black. Brock inhaled the scent of detergent cleaning to the underwear and his soap, citrusy with a faint hint of woodsmoke. The material was soft against his lips as he mouthed along the outline of his rapidly hardening cock. He reached up to peel his underwear down but Jack seized his wrist. 

“No hands.” 

Brock looked up through his lashes at him. It wasn’t something Jack asked for often but it was something he enjoyed. Brock was just glad he hadn’t decided this when he was getting his jeans down. It was a pain in the ass to do with just your teeth. Brock placed one last kiss on the head of his cock and trailed his nose up his pubic mound, through thin but coarse hair that ran from his navel to the white band of his underwear that Brock lipped up high enough to seize between his teeth and pull down, the heat from Jack’s cock radiated as he freed it from its spandex prison. Jack’s cock hung heavy and thick and Brock was drooling at the sight. The head of his cock glistened with precum and the prominent smell of semen swirled around them. Brock pressed his lips against the juncture of his thighs and trailed his tongue down his thick vein. Jack’s cock bobbed and fluid began to drool from the tip. Brock dove to catch it before it got on their carpet. He wasn’t in the mood to schedule a shampooing. 

Warm and salty it felt nice on his tongue and he flicked his tongue over Jack’s slit to pick up the extra fluid that had beaded there. Brock ran the broad of his tongue along the underside of his cock and Jack groaned and rewarded him with another string of precum. Unfortunately Jack’s dick was too thick to deepthroat it but he made do with swallowing down what he could and stimulating what he couldn’t with a jerking motion. Jack’s hand fisted in his hair and Brock knew he was getting close. 

“Fuck,” Jack huffed, starting shallow thrusts. He was always careful with Brock, he knew that Brock could only take so much. “Fuck.” 

His pace began to stagger and then they stuttered, and he exhaled sharply, spitting a slew of vulgar words. Brock swallowed down the cum and wrung the remains of his orgasm with gentle sucking until Jack applied gentle pressure to his forehead. He backed up, wiping the drool from his chin while Jack caught his breath. Brock stepped into the bathroom to fix his hair and brush his teeth. 

“I was going to take Chopin on the trail. Want to come?” 

“Can’t, I have a meeting in Frankfort.” 

“Fun.” 

“We’ll see.” 

Jack was redressing into the gray button down Brock loved so much with a black blazer and slacks. He paused in front of the mirror above the dresser and was examining the watch box. The Rolex he had mentioned did exist although Jack thought it was tacky. He preferred the Cartier although he refused to wear around nonna. Brock was certain she’d leave them be if she saw it but he said he wasn’t going to play her games. So Brock gave up. 

“The Shinola would look nice.” Brock said leaning over. 

“Shinola it is.” Jack fastened his watch and kissed Brock. “I’ll be back in time for dinner.” 

“You better. If you’re late I will never hear the end of it.” 

“I promise.” 

Brock nodded his head. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

“Seven,” Brock said again because he couldn’t help it. 

“Yup, be there at eight. Got it.” 

“Jack.” 

“Brock.” 

He strode to the door and took pity on Brock’s nerves. “I’ll be there at 6:45 with bells on. I’ll even wear the Rolex.” 

Brock wasn’t sure why he was so nervous about it but he smiled in relief. “Thank you. Now go to your meeting.”

Jack mock saluted him. “Aye Captain.” 

** ** ** **  
AZUR was the fine dining Brock grew up with and Jack didn’t seem out of his element, often choosing similar venues when meeting with those looking for Jack to fully board their horses. Nonna had pinned her hair up and was wearing her festoon platinum necklace with amethyst and pearls. She had on her silver Olivela dress and diamond earring that would have been gaudy if Brock didn’t know they were real. Brock had dressed fittingly as well, a black Neiman Marcus dress shirt tucked into a pair of Ralph Lauren wool dress pants. Jack, as per his promise, had arrived on time clad in the same outfit he had worn to the meeting but Brock didn’t care about that. The restaurant was sleek, modern chic with a purple and yellow color scheme and a curved bar just behind the hostess podium. 

They were ushered to their tables and nonna complimented Jack on his outfit. “Now if you dressed like this more often, people wouldn’t fret.” 

“You’re absolutely right,” Jack said and Brock was relieved that there would be no passive aggression during the meal. 

They picked up the wine menu first, immediately choosing a bottle of 2014 Silver Oak Cabernet Sauvignon. Jack got himself a 15 year Pappy to go along with it. When their drinks arrived and conversation flowed about how things were back home and who was having an affair with who, they turned their attention to the menu. They ordered lobster crepes as an appetizer and Jack insisted on truffle fries as well. Brock was watching his waistline for the upcoming party so he didn’t plan to partake in them. The crepes were stuffed with lobster, cream cheese and chives, with sugar snap pea shoots and a tropical guava sauce. The fries were tossed in truffle infused olive oil and grated Romano cheese, served with a garlic aioli. 

“I sent out invitations to three hundred guest and each one has RSVPed. I’m glad I knew enough to rent all the venues.” Nonna boasted. 

Brock nearly spat his wine out onto the table cloth. “Three hundred? Three hundred people?” 

“There are so many people who love you back home. Which is why you should really come back. That property I was telling you about is still available. I can have it bought up in seconds.” 

“We are happy where we are, thank you.” Brock murmured, still trying to wrap his head around it. 

If Jack was at all bothered by the sheer mass of people coming to his birthday party he didn’t show it. But Jack had a good poker face so maybe he was just overwhelmed by the amount of people he’d be expected to say hello to because it was the polite thing to do and if the rich were anything, it was polite. And if he didn’t it would reflect poorly not only on Brock but also on his nonna. Their appetizers came and despite his anxiety the food was sinfully good and quickly became a comfort. He ate two crepes savoring the rich filling and a small handful of fries. Brock wasn’t a huge fan of truffles, it was something easily over done but the ratio was on point for the fries. He washed the appetizers down with a glass of wine. Usually it was considered distasteful to get tipsy at a dinner but Brock was still coming off the nerves of his win, mixed with anxiety over the party. Jack bumped his knee against Brock’s and some of the nervousness vanished. Jack would be there, Jack was always there. He’d hold his hand through it all, figuratively and literally. And afterwards he’d reward him. 

The server cleared away the remains and refilled their glasses — Jack requesting a 23 year Pappy this time. Once his cup was full Brock tried to steer conversation off the party plans but his nonna wasn’t having it. “The guests will be staying in the hotel afterwards — I expect you two will be as well, my nipote does love his wine just like his nonna.” 

Brock couldn’t argue with that, especially with the glass’ brim resting on his bottom lip. All he could do was offer a guilty smile. He may not have been legally of age but money had a way of waiving certain laws and drinking ages were one of them. When a party ordered the most expensive wine offered the server knew better than ID the paying customer. 

“He certainly does. I take it you’ve already made the arrangements.” 

Nonna laughed, loud and unapologetic. “Who do you think I am? I have been planning events since I was sixteen.” 

Jack smiled. “Well that’s not too long now, is it?” 

Nonna smiled, pleased. “Perhaps,” she said and finally picked up the menu again. 

They followed suit, Brock’s dragging his eyes over the options. Jack looked for a second and set it aside picking up his drink. “You already know what you want?”

“Bourbon fried chicken,” he replied instantly. 

Brock had no idea how he stayed so well in shape with the way he ate. He was clearly blessed with a superhuman metabolism. Or it was all the physical labor he did. When grain shipments came in and he wasn’t currently busy he would help haul the massive stacks into the feed shed. Brock had tried to help and nearly died on the way. Nonna seemed too busy selecting to be bothered by his dinner choice. Brock couldn’t remember the last time he had fried chicken but he intended on stealing some off Jack’s plate. 

Brock was drawn to the filet mignon and smiled at the memory of their first lunch together. He wondered what sixteen year old him would think if he’d know that his mean riding instruction would become the love of his life. He probably wouldn’t believe it. Sometimes Brock had a hard time believing a man like Jack loved him. Nonna set down her menu and spotted the server a table away, catching his attention by snapping her fingers twice. 

“Nonna,” Brock hissed. 

“Oh, hush. It’s their job.” 

The server hastened over. “We are ready to order. I would like the salmon ratatouille.” 

The server noted it and looked to Brock next. “The filet mignon, grilled, please.” 

“Very good. Sir?” 

Jack set down his glass. “Bourbon fried chicken.” 

He nodded and after assuring everyone was okay, went to give the orders to the kitchen. Nonna asked about the horse events Brock had taken part in. Brock gladly shared the races he’d taken part at Keeneland and she nodded her head although he suspected she didn’t know many of the terms he was using. He forgot that not everyone knew the lingo of the horse world. 

“Chopin is a force to reckon with on quarter mile sprints.” Brock explained. “He tops out at just over 88 kilometers an hour.” 

Nonna nodded her head. “I knew he was the one for you the moment I heard about the breed. Nonna is never wrong, is she?”

“No she is not.” Brock swirled the wine around before he said, “Dad’s really coming?” 

He didn’t want to care. Not after how painful it was for the person who was supposed to walk him down the aisle canceled at the last minute. He had kept face, as he was taught, but the first half of his honeymoon was spent crying into Jack’s shoulder which was, decidedly, not very sexy. But Jack was...Jack. He loved Brock through his ugliest moments and was there to share the best. But his father hadn’t properly met Jack. They had tried to have dinner together in New York City but by the time the appetizers arrived he was out the door because of some urgent business. Brock wished he still had that childish assurance that his father really did love him, work was just crazy at that moment. Maybe it was what working on Wall Street did to people and Brock was naive enough to believe that. He didn’t have much faith in him showing up to be honest but he didn’t want to tell nonna that. Brock knew what would happen. The night before he was supposed to be there he’d send Brock a text (he never had time for a phone call, not for Brock) and Brock would be devastated. It would have been better if nonna hadn’t told him. If you don’t know you can’t be disappointed. 

“He is, he promised me.” 

“He promised you at my wedding too,” Brock replied morosely. 

“This will be different, il tesoro.” 

No amount of pet names would convince Brock. Until his father was there, standing in front of him, hugging him, shaking Jack’s hand, it was empty promises. Jack squeezed his hand as if he knew exactly what he was thinking. He didn’t need his father because he had Jack who was always there, would never abandon him. 

“Okay nonna.” 

Jack steered the conversation onto happier things, informing nonna about how he had just signed a year's full board for the winning horse in the Preakness Stakes. Their dishes came and Brock distracted himself from the previous conversation with a huge gulp of wine. The dishes’ presentation was amazing. Brock’s filet mignon had beautiful diamond grill marks, served over garlic mashed potatoes, grilled broccolini and a sherry wine mushroom sauce. Brock snuck a look at Jack’s. The breading had been delicately fried over buttermilk mashed potatoes, southern styled pole beans and cream gravy. 

“Oh, you expect me to share hm?” Jack asked, noticing his eyes on his plate. “I’ll need some of that steak.” 

“Deal.” 

Nonna’s salmon was crusted in parmesan served over a bright ratatouille and truffle potato curls and basil oil. The conversation came to a halt as everyone began to eat. Brock had to say that while Jack’s venison was good, this was just a little better. They’d have to return to his place. If there was one thing that sucked about adulthood it was no longer ordering dessert. Brock didn’t need the extra calories but sometimes it was nice to indulge. The server cleared off the table and left the check (nonna and Jack both passive aggressively tried to pick it up and eventually nonna’s stubbornness won and she picked up the tab) and the remainder to the wine. Nonna insisted that Brock bring it home. It was good but it was a cheap wine and it had a certain way to it that was tolerable when there was nothing better but bringing it home where he had a full wine cellar, the idea of putting a 2014 bottle there almost sickened him. But he was never able to argue with nonna, a trait that Jack often told him was a problem and that he needed to be more assertive. He had no problem making himself heard but when it came to her… Well, things were different. 

Brock waited until nonna was in her car before heading towards his X7. An arm wrapped around his waist and his keys were seized. “You had a little too much,” Jack murmured into his hair, their bodies flush against each other. “I’ll have your car brought home.” 

“You already got your blow job of the day,” Brock pointed out. “Don’t expect a driving one.” 

“I won’t,” Jack laughed, steering him towards the truck, a 1500 Denali that was painfully boring. 

“You should get a new truck. A Tesla truck,” Brock said. “They make those you know.” 

“I think last time you were drunk you told me. About ten times.” 

“Well it’s a Tesla,” Brock said, a bit offended. “It’s a truck. You like trucks. Get a Tesla truck.” 

“Your Tesla truck costs less than the truck in front of you.” Jack opened the door and helped Brock in, leaning over to buckle him. 

Brock patted the back of his head. “Hm, get a normal one. Get me one.” 

“You really want a Tesla?” Jack asked, standing back. 

Brock hummed. “No. They’re ugly.”

Jack came around and when he was buckled in asked, “If they’re ugly why would you want me to get one?” 

“Nonna would finally see you’re rich.”

“I love you Brock but I don’t really care what your nonna thinks.” 

Brock frowned. “She practically raised me. She brought us together. You should care. Maybe just a little bit.” 

Jack sighed. “Okay Brock. I’ll care a little bit.” 

Brock reached over to pat his thigh. “Good boy.” 

“Unless you’re going to put that hand to good use, keep it over there.” 

“Someone is going to pick up my car?” 

“Yes Brock.” 

“Okay. But maybe think about the Tesla.” 

“I’ll definitely give it some thought.” 

“Good.” 

•• •• •• ••

Brock never thought he’d fly into New York City to go shopping but with the upcoming party he didn’t have much of a choice. So here he was, walking down Madison Ave with Hermes shopping bags full of possible outfits for the party. Jack had initially agreed to come along but one of the horses were showing signs of colic and he needed to be there when the vet arrived. Brock understood and tried to enjoy his solo four hour flight in first class with a few flutes of champagne. His nonna had arranged a car already though she had clubhouse obligations. She did send one of the housemaids, a small sweet woman named Wanda. She was carrying the bags at her insistence (“Mrs. Rumlow would be very upset if I didn’t”) so to make up for it, and settle a craving of his own, they stopped at Blank Slate Tea. 

As they settled on the pink couch Wanda looked a bit uncomfortable. Her red hair was pinned back into the bun that his nonna asked all housemaids to have for the sake of uniformity. “Mr. Rollins --” 

“Brock,” he reminded her again. 

“Brock,” she began. “You don’t need to buy me anything. This is my job.” 

“Jobs should be rewarded. Besides, you’re working for me right now, yes?” 

“Yes Mr… Brock.” 

“Then I’m telling you to join me for a snack and drink.” Brock passed her a menu. “Order whatever you’d like.” 

“I… Thank you, Brock. I’ve never been anywhere like this.” Wanda looked around. “I’ve never even been on Madison Avenue.” 

Brock frowned at that but couldn’t think of a response other than, “Did you like it?” 

“Oh the clothes I saw in the window are just beautiful. And that woman in the store… She was like a model.” 

“Madison Avenue is a beautiful place for beautiful people,” Brock quipped, what his nonna had told him when she brought him here for a tux for his elementary school graduation. “Or so I’m told.” 

“Everyone I’ve seen so far is beautiful,” Wanda said. “If I wasn’t with you I doubt they would have let me in.” 

“If you weren’t beautiful you wouldn’t be working for my nonna,” Brock said firmly. “And it’s not about looks so much as it’s about money.” 

Wanda nodded her head and looked around. “Wow, this place is beautiful. Well,” she laughed a bit nervously. “It’s on Madison Avenue so it has to be right?” 

Brock winked. “You’re catching on.” 

He passed her the menu, glancing at his for a moment to assure what he wanted was still there: silver needle, a white tea with a hint of apricots and a velvety texture. 

“I… I don’t know much about tea,” Wanda admitted. 

“Do you prefer coffee? Latte? Matcha?” 

“I don’t even know what matcha is,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh. 

“How about I pick for you,” Brock said. “We’ll order a few and you can sample them.” 

“Oh no, I don’t want to put you out.” 

“I just spent thirty three hundred dollars on a Jacket 24. Finances aren’t a concern.” 

With a meek nod she accepted and Brock passed her the food menu with a firm look to discourage her from ordering the cheapest item. She tucked down her chin and turned her brown eyes onto the menu. He waited until she started peeking at him over the edge to ask what had caught her interest. 

“Well, I hear everyone talking about avocado toast. I-I’ve never tried but… Maybe I can get that? If it’s okay. “

“It’s fine. If you don’t like we’ll order something else.” 

The waitress approached them and Brock ordered a silver needle, zhejiang green, a classic chai with oat milk, a ceylon orange peylon with almond milk and a chamomile with whole milk. For food he got a matcha yogurt bowl, subbing coconut yogurt, as well as avocado toast for his companion. Typically Brock got the smoked salmon but he wasn’t feeling very hungry, just a bit peckish. The waitress nodded and Brock sat back. Shopping wasn’t supposed to be taxing but it always felt that way. 

“I-I hear you race horses,” Wanda said in a quiet voice, as if worried she wasn’t supposed to be speaking to him. 

“I do.” Brock said, straightening up. “I have an Akhal-Teke.” 

“I’ve never heard of that breed.”

“They’ve very rare.” Brock smiled at the thought of him. “His name is Chopin. He’s my best friend.” 

“You seem to love him very much.” Wanda agreed. She smoothed her dress. “What’s Kentucky like?” 

Brock would have been distrubed over how much she knew but he knew his nonna probably shared all about his personal information to whoever would listen. “It’s nice. Warm but not too hot. The winter’s are cold but not like they are here.” It was hard to describe so he settled on, “It’s nice.” 

Their food and tea arrived. Wanda’s avocado toast was placed in front of her, Brock’s yogurt bowl in front of him and the teas lined up. His yogurt was topped with granola, fresh berries and mint. Wanda’s had the avocado smeared over the country bread with turmeric and lemon. Brock sipped his tea first and then started to walk Wanda through the teas in front of them. 

“I tried to get tea from each type. For black tea I chose orange peylon which is english breakfast tea. It’s very balanced, a bit brisk. For green I chose the zhejiang green which is Chinese green tea. It’s sweet and well rounded. Chai tea is fully flavored with fragrant spices. Orange peylon is bright and brisk. Chamomile has honey and apple notes. Feel free to try whichever sounded good to you.”

He watched Wanda sampling tea between nibbling on the bread. “Do you like it?” Brock asked with a nod towards the toast. 

She nodded her head with a bright smile. “It’s so good. Thank you. I see what the hype is all about.” 

Brock’s phone chimed and he looked down to see Jack confirming the horse had colic but it is being treated. The vet was fairly certain it was a mild case and that once treated there would be no issues. But Jack had every right to be worried. No full boarder wanted a horse to pass in their care. 

“Is everything okay?” Wanda asked.

He quickly stowed away the phone. “Yes, my apologies. It’s not very polite to be on your phone at the table.” 

“Oh it’s okay. I understand.” 

“No, it’s not okay. I’m here with you, we should be speaking. Have you worked with my nonna long?” 

“Two years this August,” she said. “She’s very kind.” 

“She’s from a whole different era,” Brock replied. “She’s not easy to work for.” 

“No, but I like the challenge. She hired my brother as her private chef and thankfully she hired me as well. I couldn’t have afforded our apartment alone.” 

Brock almost asked if she was paid well before realizing that it was none of his concern and extremely rude. He made it a point to stop by an ATM to offer a tip. Wanda stuck with the zhejiang and Brock thought that was a pretty good choice. They continued to chat between sips and bites, Wanda assuring him that being on-call 24/7 wasn’t so bad because his nonna wasn’t usually active at night. They ended their snack stop and Brock paid before they wandered down Madison Avenue. He paused by Smythson to get Jack a new planner. He liked to see things in a writing which Brock would never understand but he had long since accepted it. 

He found his outfit in Canali. The VIP room boasted a full stock cocktail bar as well as made for measure fitting. Brock managed to get Wanda to accept a flute of Cristal for having to sit around and wait. 

“I’d say the trip was a success,” Brock said once they were settled in the car. “I hope it wasn’t too unbearable.” 

“Oh not at all,” she said. “I can’t wait to tell Pietro that I actually drank Cristal. He’s going to be so jealous.” 

Brock wasn’t too sure what the big deal was but maybe it was considered high class for her. 

“I’ll have a few bottles sent so you two can drink together.” Brock said, sending a text to nonna to do so. 

“Oh no, you-you’ve been too nice to me already.” 

“It’s the least I can do for dragging you around all day.” 

“It was fun,” Wanda said, looking a bit afraid. “I… I think Mrs. Rumlow will be upset.” 

“She won’t be. I promise.” 

Wanda settled with a small appreciative smile. “Thank you Brock.” 

“Thank you Wanda.” 

•• •• •• ••

Brock was relieved to be back in Kentucky, even if it was almost two am. He knew if he spent the night at nonna’s he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Without Jack at his side he never could. He tried to creep into the room quietly so he didn’t wake up Jack. But Jack was a light sleeper and no sooner had he stepped foot in the light came on and Jack sat up with a stretch. 

“Hi,” Brock squeaked. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” 

“Doesn’t matter, I’m up anyway.” Jack yawned. “Looks like shopping went well.” 

“I got you something. Want to see it?” 

“Maybe in the morning. Currently I see what I want.” 

Brock blushed, setting the bags on the desser and approached the bed. Jack looked a bit more awake, green eyes mischievous. “Come here.” Jack patted the bed beside him. 

“I just got off a four hour flight. I need a shower.” 

“Then shower and then come here.” Jack said.

Brock laughed and walked into the bathroom leaving a trail of clothes behind him. He turned on the waterfall feature and let the steam engulf him, a silky warm vapor kissing his skin. Then there was someone actually kissing his skin. Jack had grown tired of waiting so he was taking the initiative to get what he was looking for. Jack kissed the curve of his shoulders, hands running along his wet skin. Brock was tired and that was okay because Jack was doing all the work. He took the shampoo in hand carefully rubbing it through his hair, massaging his scalp as Brock moaned quietly in appreciation. First class wasn’t awful but it was still far from the comfort of home. Jack gently tipped his head back with an index finger under his chin and meticulously rinsed it from his hair. Next came the conditioner and he left it in while he picked up his beloved Eau de Mandriane Ambree cleansing gel, all the way from Paris, and began to massage it into his skin from top to bottom. As he reached his waist, Jack knelt, fingers slipping between his cheeks to prod at his hole. Brock didn’t object so Jack stroked a soapy finger over his hole, loosening him carefully and just as slow as the rest of his ministrations in the shower. Brock moaned softly as the finger delved deeper. Jack’s other hand wrapped around his dick and he began to finger fuck and jack him off. It wasn’t aggressive, they were slow sensual actions that brought on a relaxing orgasm. Brock was left leaning against the marble wall, eyes heavy. 

Jack stood, pressed a kiss to his lips that returned with all the energy he could muster and Jack finished bathing him before wrapping him up in a fluffy towel and leading him to bed. Brock was asleep as soon as he hit the pillow. 

** ** ** **

“You’re not wearing that.” 

“And why not?”

“You wore it to her birthday party last year. She’ll think that you only own two suits and she won’t leave it alone.” Brock chastised. “It may say semi-formal on the invite but we both know it’’s formal.” 

Jack sighed in exasperation and stripped back down. “Okay, fine, couturier, what should I wear.” 

Brock sighed, still half dressed himself, and went to his closet to look through his painfully sparse formal clothing. “I can’t believe this all you have. You should have told me to pick you up something.” 

“I don’t need anything. Look, suits, right there.”

“Suits she’s seen you in.” 

“God forbid you wear the same thing twice.” 

“Nonna forbid,” Brock corrected, pulling out the garment bags to scrutinize them. “If you weren’t so stupidly tall you could wear something of mine.” 

“Hm, your taste is a little...posh for me.” 

“It’s my birthday, don’t piss me off.” 

“It’s not your birthday until Monday.” 

“Jack.” 

“Brock.” 

Brock sighed in annoyance and settled on his gray Brioni before turning his attention to the pocket square collection. He settled on navy blue and then looked over the tie rack and scoffed. 

“What now?” Jack asked, sounding annoyed. 

“The nicest tie you own is a Tom Ford? You are killing me Jack.” 

“I don’t see the purpose in buying disgustingly expensive clothes. If it looks nice that’s enough for me. It doesn't need to be expensive.” 

Brock sighed and took the tie off the rack. “Wear this with the Brioni and the navy blue pocket square. Please.” 

“Sir yes sir.” 

It sounded like Jack was pouting a bit but Brock didn’t have the time, nor the energy, to tease him for it. Clearly his nervousness was showing because Jack said, “Relax.”

“If he’s not there… I hate this. I hate that I don’t ever learn and every time hurts just a little bit more.” 

Jack came up behind him, tie slung over his shoulder and white shirt still unbuttoned. He wrapped his arms around him pulling him close, resting his chin on top of Brock’s head because his hair was still undone. “You know that, no matter what, I’ll be there. If he’s not there, fuck him. He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.” 

“I know,” Brock didn’t though. He wished he did. He wished that he didn’t know that Brock came second to his career and had his entire life. “Let’s get ready. The car will be here soon.” 

The party had already started of course but Brock was to arrive last so he could make his grand entrance. It was something Jack had some difficulty adjusting to because in his world early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable. It was hard to believe the man had survived before Brock came into his life to show him the ropes. They finished getting dressed and Brock fussed with his hair holding them up for an unexpected five minutes but Brock wasn’t too worried about it. The ride to the Kentucky Castle was anything other than fun. They had an overnight bag packed for their room after the party and Brock had a rock in his gut because he knew what was coming and how hard it was going to be to keep face when he was disappointed once more. 

Jack squeezed his hand. “We can leave whenever you want to.” 

“It’s rude to leave your party.” 

“But it’s polite to arrive late?” Brock knew Jack was distracting him and he was thankful for that. 

“Yes, so you get your grand entrance.” 

Jack hadn’t been raised with money. He had trained an underdog racer and they won which sent him tumbling into the world of the rich and famous. “Ah, of course. And I should hang back?” 

Brock laughed. “You wish. I’ll be holding your arm.” 

Jack groaned quietly. “Of course you will.” 

•• •• •• ••

The arrival was seamless. Despite Jack’s insistence that he had no idea what he was doing he strode with the confidence of a man well versed in the world of extravagance. He almost had Brock fooled. Nonna met him inside with a ghosted kiss to each cheek so she didn’t mess up her lipstick. She looked stunning in her off shoulder Teri Jon by Rickie Freeman, her brown hair pinned up exposing her Harry Winston diamond platinum cluster earrings. A torsade pearl necklace wrapped around her swan-like neck. 

“My, you do clean up well, don’t you dear.” Nonna said with a nod of recognition towards Jack. “I won’t keep you, I know you have plenty of people to meet with.” 

Brock knew he should walk away, to not ask the question on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t help it. “Have you… Do you know when dad’s arriving?” 

“He was supposed to call me but he hasn’t yet. Forgive him for being late, I’m sure it was a layover or something silly.” 

That feeling of dread increased but he kept face as he was taught, and nodded. He made his rounds accepting happy birthdays from people he didn’t know and who didn’t know him. Jack shook hands and conversed easily about the Derby and entertained the constant “You know, I was thinking about buying a horse”. Brock was only half there mentally. He had to admit the place was gorgeous with it’s marble floors, grand staircase and lofty ceilings. It gave it a sort of dated elegance. A gem from years ago that still glimmered today. The ballroom was decked out with balloon garlands, with long tables for their meal all faced towards the one Brock, Jack and nonna would be sitting at. There was a fourth chair as well but Brock could already see the caterer pulling it away as nonna explained that his father was just so very busy and how much money he was giving Brock for his special day. There was a champagne fountain in the corner beside a tier of tea sandwiches. They were untouched of course, no one willing to show their hunger before the proper time. Well, everyone except Jack. 

“Oh cucumber sandwiches.” 

“No one actually eats those,” Brock muttered. 

Jack didn’t care, wandered to take not one but two. The two young girls gossiping in the corner wearing matching dresses watched with wide eyes. Brock had long since stopped being embarrassed by Jack’s lack of decorum. 

“Want a bite?” 

“No. A thousand dollars says he doesn’t come.” 

“I”m not a gambler. Hey, how about some champagne?” Jack replied, clearly an attempt at distraction. 

“Let’s go to the roof and work our way back down.” Brock sighed heavily. 

“Sounds like a plan. But when we come back down, I want more sandwiches.” 

They ended up staggering out when Brock saw a particular person he found particularly intolerable. They went from the roof to the parlor, to the greenhouse to the tented east terrace and courtyard. There was a second champagne fountain there so he helped himself to a flute while being talked at by two ladies from the club. He was mid sentence with someone tapped him on his shoulder. He turned around ready to remind the person that he was speaking. 

But then he was staring at his father for the first time in over a year. “Sorry I’m late. I can’t stay long but I wanted to come and wish you a happy birthday.” 

Brock didn’t even care he couldn’t stay. He threw his arm around him and hugged him. His father seemed startled but returned it. “You came.” Brock breathed. 

“I did.” Brock pulled back blinking away his tears and his father turned his attention to him. “Good to see you again, Jack.” 

“You as well.” They exchanged a handshake. 

“Your nonna tells me you won a horse award.” 

Brock laughed. “I won a halter show.” 

His father listened, really listened, to his rehash but then his phone went off. Immediately the phone was out and he stepped away from Brock mid word answering the call. Brock stood there, a bit dumb and extremely embarrassed because the couple beside them looked over openly. Brock wanted to cry but he couldn’t. Besides it was childish for him to not understand how work was important. If a horse got hurt Jack would be gone in a second. And Brock’s father worked with copious amounts of other people’s money. It was important. It was more important than Brock. 

All of a sudden he wished he hadn’t come. Being acknowledged then ignored hurt more than being ignored altogether. Jack put a hand on his back. 

“Let’s go find those sandwiches again. Maybe poke at your birthday presents.” 

Brock agreed numbly. Jack ate about six sandwiches while Brock sulked to the side, running through ways he could have better handled it. He could have grabbed the phone and thrown it on the marble and stomped it into pieces. He could have told his father to fuck off the second he got his attention. He could have thrown the phone into the fountain. But no, he had stood there like an idiot and had his heart broken again. Like he always did. 

“You’re not supposed to be sad on your birthday.” Jack seemed to have gotten his fill on the sandwiches. 

“It’s my birthday, I’ll cry if I want to.” 

“Are you Lesley Gore?” 

“Who?” 

“She’s the one who sings that song. You do know it’s a song, right?” 

Brock sighed. “I don’t really care.” 

Jack hummed and held his hand. “Say the word and we’re gone. I’ll even have the on call hand send Two-Bits here so I can steal you away on a white horse. Won’t that be an exit? I don’t think nonna would mind.” 

Brock smiled but it was strained and tired. A caterer came in and, as expected, the fourth chair was taken away and the table setting was rearranged as if it had been there. Brock wished it hadn’t. Jack saw it as well and tugged his attention away with, “Why don’t go find the ugliest dresses here.”

Brock smiled, thin and weary. “Alright.” 

They visited the open bar along the way and Brock got a White Russian and Jack got a glass of Mitcher’s bourbon. They found a dress with real goose feathers that was tacky and a bit horrifying (“Imagine all the featherless gooses out there”) and another made of poofy chiffon that belonged back in the eighties. As far as the younger woman went it seemed the sleeves were longer than the actual dress which would have been fine if it was truly semi-formal but everyone knew that semi-formal meant formal and short dresses for a formal affair was unsightly. Brock was glad they hadn’t run into nonna yet. She would try to console him and Brock wasn’t emotionally ready for that. At dinner he would accept it and pretend it didn’t bother him but not right now. Not when the wound was still gaping open and bleeding. He needed a little time for it to scab over before nonna went picking at it. 

They ended up back on the roof on one of the marble benches looking at the sunset. It was almost time to go to the ballroom for dinner. “I hear the food here is great,” Jack said when Brock mentioned the time. 

Brock motioned one of the bussers making rounds and deposited their emptied glasses. “We should probably head down. Nonna tends to get a bit hysteric when I'm not where I’m meant to be.” 

They descended to the ballroom where nonna was chastising a busser about how long she had been holding her empty glass. She hastily agreed that she should be making her rounds much faster and nonna finally let the poor girl go. “Ah there you are, I was just starting to get worried. Your father -- ”

“I know nonna. It’s okay.” 

She nodded her head. “Well let’s take our seats.” 

Brock settled in, the guests doing the same. An army of waiters came out, passing out the appetizer menus and filling glasses with water. They moved fluently, like a practiced dance. The appetizer menu boasted rib sliders, smoked brisket sliders, bacon wrapped shrimp, rum and sorghum glazed chicken livers, pulled pork egg rolls, and kyayaki marinated flank steak crostinis. Jack chose the chicken livers and Brock the bacon wrapped shrimp. He was saying fuck it to his diet tonight. He’d work out tomorrow morning when his bitterness was less sharp and easier to feed into something more productive than crying. The dishes came, Brock’s shrimp served over charred corn and black bean salsa with cilantro lime crema. Jack’s looked surprisingly appetizing for being chicken liver. It was plated with spinach and shallots with charred toast points. Nonna had ordered shrimp as well. 

The appetizers came out promptly and Brock turned his misery towards food was great so it was a welcome distraction. Nonna asked what he’d be doing on his actual birthday looking pointedly at Jack. Jack replied it was a surprise, most like to appease her. Brock’s ideal birthday was in bed with Jack with lots of wine and even more kisses. On his last birthday Jack had taken him, Chopin and Mister on a long trail that ended in a small meadow where they tethered the horses, had a picnic and fucked unabashedly in the open. It had been heaven on earth. Part of him hoped for a repeat. A caterer approached them and introduced the wine, “2002 Krug Clos d’Ambonnay.” 

Nonna heaved a sigh as if it pained her to drink the wine and waved her hand over her glass. “It was the best they could offer,” she explained. “It’s not as horrible as the wine at AZUR but don’t expect it to be a 1947 Chateau Cheval Blanc.” 

Brock groaned in remembrance of it. It was a wine used sparsely for on the most important of events. Brock had only tasted it twice. The caterer filled their glasses. It was lemon in color with fine bubbles. He let it air before tasting it. It was fresh and with a mineral edge to it. There was good structure to it, the taste of honey and apples. It was complex with great acidity. 

It was good, but it wasn’t the best he’d had. 

The caterers came to bus the appetizer dishes and left the entree options. It was a bit limited but enough to cater to different tastes. Offered were scallops and steak, chargrilled salmon, seafood stuffed shells, stuffed quail and hand-cut prime rib. They all sounded good but Brock had loved quail since he was a child. Jack was, unsurprisingly, going for the steak and nonna got the stuffed shells. While waiting for the dishes to be served nonna commented on the table teeming with wrapped parcels and Brock nodded as he was supposed to. Mentally he was still in the courtyard, telling his father about Chopin’s sprint racing win. Jack squeezed his hand under the table and it helped ground him. The plates came out finally, saving Brock from talking about nonna’s driver not wearing his ascot properly. 

His quail was stuffed with seasoned rice, andouille sausage and creole gravy, lying on a bed of greens. Jack’s filet was chargrilled and his two scallops seared with a puree of carrots and parsnips with wilted spinach and a roasted red pepper gastrique. Nonna’s stuffed shells looked good as well, the shells served with a creamy bechamel sauce, fresh herbs, marinara, pancetta, and fried basil. Food was a good distraction for Brock, a warm embrace that saved him from his feelings, if only for a few minutes. The quail was tender and fragile and he loved it from the first bite to the last. Then, the course he had been waiting for finally came. Dessert. 

He practically ignored his nonna in favor of looking over every possible option. Rainier cherry cheesecake, bread pudding, chocolate cake, lemon raspberry torte, strawberry tarte… He wanted them all but, despite it being his birthday, he wasn’t going to let himself go that far in his self pity. So he copied Jack and got the lemon raspberry torte. Nonna selected the strawberry tarte for herself. It was much faster serving thankfully so Brock could admire his dish. It was simple, a lemon sponge cake with raspberry compote, but it was plated elegantly. Despite his feelings on the matter of having a huge birthday party each year, he had to appreciate his nonna always giving him the very best. She had been the mother he never had, and had taken over when his father couldn’t. He did need his father here, not with nonna. He reached over to give her hand a squeeze. 

“Thank you.” 

“It’s your birthday darling, you don’t need to thank me.” 

“No, thank you for everything. For always being here when… When he isn’t.” 

Her eyes softened in understanding and smiled. “You’ve always been like my figlio,” she said softly. “But enough of this, enjoy your birthday.” 

The word had caught him off guard. She thought of him like her son. Brock realized he had always thought of her in a maternal way as well. It was strange that it had taken so long for the realization to hit him. Suddenly he wanted to cry and he wasn’t sure why. So he tried to distract himself by focusing on nonna’s plate: an in house made graham cracker crust and sugared strawberries fanning over it. Beautiful. Like this place. 

The rest of the party was a blur, his body on autopilot traversing the usual conversation with guests he hadn’t caught before dinner. The party was winding down and those staying at the Castle were retiring upstairs. Brock was starting to feel run down and nonna noticed. “Your bags are already in your suite. You look dead on your feet, darling. Jack, take my nipote upstairs before he falls dead of exhaustion.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Brock was too tired to refuse. Plus, chances were there was a bucket of ice and champagne and he would like nothing more than to get off his feet and drink until all the uncomfortable feeling bubbling beneath his skin was gone. The hotel room was lavish and gorgeous but Brock was single minded. In the living room area there was the expected bottle and Brock grabbed it, already slipping out of his shoes. The four poster bed gave an extra tier of class and Brock let out a lusty moan as he sunk into the soft bed. 

“Jack, I want this bed to come home with us.” 

Jack was slipping off his other shoe before helping him out of the suit without making him move too much. There were garment bags in the dresser that Jack slid their suits into before pulling clothes out of their bags. Brock stared at the canopy. 

“Nonna has been like my mom and dad.” 

“Yes, yes she has.” 

“You knew?” Brock lifted his head. 

“You didn’t?” 

“I mean… I don’t know how I didn’t. She was always nonna but… I guess she’s not the way normal nonna’s are, is she?” 

“Well, my Gram wasn’t like her.” 

Brock murmured in surprise. He felt like a moron for not seeing it sooner. For not cherishing her even more than he already did. “I’m really fucking lucky to have her.” 

“You are. And she’s lucky to have you.” 

Brock rolled away when he tried to put pants on him. 

“Brock you’re not helping.” 

“I want birthday sex,” he reminded him. “So get you and your dick over here before I throw a birthday fit.” 

“It’s not your birthday yet and adding the word ‘birthday’ doesn’t make it official. 

“I birthday disagree with you.” 

“I’m tired Brock.” 

“I’ll do all the birthday work.” 

Jack sighed, folding the pants over the ivory chaise. 

Brock peeled down underwear tossing them off the bed as he drained his flute setting it on the bedside table. “C’mon,” he urged Jack who was checking something on his phone. 

“Just checking in to make sure all the horses are in and got grain.” 

He set the phone aside and got onto the bed. Brock kissed him hard, maybe a bit aggressively because their teeth clicked against each other. When Brock couldn’t make heads or tails of his feelings he put all of those emotions into the one thing he could understand: sex. Jack grabbed his shoulders to steady himself and shifted further onto the bed. Brock pulled back and Jack looked surprised. 

“Wait, I have lube.” 

He wasn’t in the mood to be slowly fingered open. He wanted it rough, he wanted to feel it the next day, he wanted to ride Jack’s cock until they both came hard. It was his birthday, he deserved it. He got back on the bed pouring a generous amount on his fingers as he worked himself open. At Jack’s plea he turned around to let him watch. Jack didn’t lift a finger to help, lazily enjoying Brock’s efforts. His cock was hardening by the sight and that stroked Brock’s ego. It wasn’t that he felt old but he was noticing that he was looking forward to his birthday a little bit less each year. But now wasn’t the time to be thinking about that. 

When he could slip three fingers in with no resistance he straddled Jack, grabbed his thick, hard dick and lined himself up. He sunk down slowly, the burn of being so tightly spread was everything Brock had been looking forward to. They groaned in unison as he took him, inch by inch and then sat there, adjusting to being so full. Jack looked up at him and Brock stared back with hooded eyes. He started to move, slowly at first, then he moved faster, gyrating his hips to rub the head of Jack’s cock against his prostate with each thrust. Jack grunted, muscles twitching. He resisted as long as he could before he put his hands on Brock’s hips and fed himself into the rhythm. The sound of skin slapping skin bounced off the walls, an erotic soundtrack to such rough but personal sex. It was the perfect not-quite-birthday sex. 

Brock increased his pace, mouth falling open with tiny whimpers as he climbed towards his orgasm. He came, shooting ribbons of cum onto Jack’s chest, milking Jack’s cock which tipped him over the edge. Brock felt the heat of semen seeping inside of him and groaned. They sat there a moment, catching their breaths. 

“I hope you’re happy now. You made me even more tired.” 

Brock grinned climbing off him to get a towel. Wiping away Jack’s cum he wiped his own off Jack’s chest. He tossed it on the floor and rolled over into Jack’s embrace. “Did you enjoy your birthday sex?” 

“Well, technically it’s not my birthday. I expect my birthday sex to be much longer.” 

Jack laughed. “I don’t know when you got so good at riding my dick.” 

“I had a good riding instruction.” 

“I think nonna would murder me if she knew I taught you that.” 

“Nonna doesn’t need to know.” 

Brock listened to Jack’s heart beat and thought about the party, about his realization and about his future with Jack. He knew that he didn’t have things that hard compared to the problems other people faced and really, he didn’t have it all that bad. If his father wasn’t interested in being part of his life that was fine. He had nonna and he had Jack. Brock looked up and found his eyes shut and breathing even. Brock carefully untangled himself and went around turning off the lights before he crawled back into bed. Lying beside Jack always felt right. Even when he was sure about the world around him he knew there was Jack who was steady and unchanging. No matter what he’d love Brock and he’d always put him first. And in return Brock would do the same.


End file.
